Waylon looks down at me underneath his arm, obviously waiting for me to answer. Guess this is question one on the test.

“Oh, we met last year, but he didn’t move me out to Iowa until August,” I answer.

“Okay, and where exactly did you two meet?” Nitra Mello asks, glancing between us.

The suspicious sparkle in her eye and slight wrinkle in her nose makes me remember one of her taglines on Rap Star Wives: Ooohhh! I can smell the drama!

Maybe she really can—I mean, from personal experience alone. She’s a doctor, and her husband, Woods, is a former biker. And everybody who watches their docu-drama knows their love story was crazy dramatic.

Also, I’m aware that Waylon looks like Waylon, and I look like, well…a somewhat pretty nurse who has no business dating the criminal president of a motorcycle gang, even if I’m showing a little too much cleavage.

I’m not sure how to answer her, so I look to Waylon to see if he has a story ready.

“I was one of her patients while I was out in Delaware on business,” Waylon answers. “We got to know each other and figured out that she belonged to me, so I took her back to Iowa with me and made her mine.”

Kyra and Nitra stare at him for a stunned second—then burst out laughing.

“That is such a Fairgood answer,” Nitra says, holding her belly as tears of laughter well up in her eyes.

More famous Fairgoods show up right before dinner. Mason Fairgood, the guy from that one restoration motorcycle show that always seemed to be on instead of Rap Star Wives when I turned on the TV in the breakroom, comes walking in with June Fairgood—the woman from that one tattoo show Sierra likes so much. They have a little girl with them who spends most of the dinner bragging about all the stuff she’s doing in preschool to her older cousins and a teenage boy who immediately asks if anyone wants to play soccer with him after we’re finished with the meal.

Other than the insane amounts of fame, the Fairgoods seem like a big, happy, down-to-earth extended family.

They tell me shared family stories and laugh a lot.

They also tease Waylon whenever he smiles over at me. But that doesn’t stop him from doing it. Or holding my hand all through dinner.

And no, this doesn't even remotely resemble the Thanksgiving family dinner in the suburbs that I imagined when I was spinning former foster kid dreams about Jonathan. But I feel happy here with Waylon and his Fairgood cousins. Like I finally belong.